Summer Stock Sunday - 25

My vintage look at summer for Summer Stock Sunday, hosted by Robin at Around the Island.

Just got back from a Girls' Overnight in Halifax, which for me and my friend Shelley amounts to a staycation. I have to say I'm a major fan of staycations. Several years ago my friend Lisa came for a visit from Ontario, and we stayed at the Westin Nova Scotian - walking distance to everything, luxury, pampering and the freedom to enjoy ourselves without having to take a flight anywhere (for me, at least.)

Last night I left work, walked through the pedway as I would if I were catching the ferry home, started the walk through the Halifax Marriott Harbourfront Hotel which forms part of the indoor route for commuters - but instead of continuing on, I turned down the corridor toward our room and met up with three of my high school choir friends.

All four of us moved away after high school, but two of us returned while one of our group lives in British Columbia and one lives in Seattle. Whenever possible, we get together when the stars align and we're all in the same city. A few weeks ago, Maureen was here for a family event but wasn't expected to be here this weekend - but Shelley told her to catch a quick flight and what a great surprise when I walked in and there she was!

So for my walk down memory lane for Summer Stock Sunday, here's a few shots taken in 1981, when I was heading into grade twelve and many of my close choir friends had just graduated and were about to head off to university.

The four of us who reveled in our Girls' Overnight were part of this close-knit crew, though only Maureen and I were at this particular barbeque.














Clockwise from left: John, Maureen, Michael, me, Philip, Ted and Katherine
















Clockwise from left: Mark, Philip, Ted, Katherine and John















Me with Katherine



















L to R: Philip, John, Katherine and Mark


















L to R: Maureen, John, Philip and Michael

Poetry Train Monday - 14 - The Flautist

Saturday night I attended my 25th high school reunion. That led to yearbook reminiscing, where I found this poem.

It's printed at the back of the year book along with five other poems by other student poets. For a middle class high school attended by children of working class parents, we had a thriving arts education when I went to P.A. (short form for Prince Andrew High School.) We had Drama classes, Art and Music (split into choir students and instrumental students.) We had one play and one musical per year, plus assorted choir or band concerts.

This poem was inspired by a friend of mine who took music class with the choir students even though he played the flute and was in several bands. 25 years later he sings with the basses in the Canadian Opera Chorus in Toronto.







Photo by Michael Cooper, 2001 Cavalleria rusticana

Here he is, third from left holding the basket - Michael Downie. This poem came to me one cold day when he came into the music portable (a satellite classroom on the school grounds, adjacent to the main building which was overcrowded with Generation X-ers) to stash his flute in its case first thing in the morning - first thing for me, but I knew he'd already been at school for awhile at band practice. And I knew that later on he'd have choir rehearsal with me because we were both in "Oklahoma!"

I trimmed this down a bit - all my early stuff is a bit longwinded.


The Flautist


Sagging sky
Purpled puffs
Punched in and held
By unseen threads

Tensed and grim
The chill, the wary gusts
Stir the hairs
Upon his neck
Soaked shoes
Trailing jets of rain
Sidesteps sopping
Crunchit bags
That skit sporadic
Cross the lot

Circle of uneasy light
Fluorescent beam
Retreats from
Morning's hazey glow
Rounds the corner
Dented metal sides
Versed with coin-carved words
Of youthful fun
Filmed with heavy mist
Mounting hollowed
Metal steps that shudder
With his sleepy weight

He grips the freezing handle
Jerks the blue door open
It takes a moment
He pulls his jacket off
Puts his books down
Flicks the water from his hair
Just sits

Numbed and red, his hands
Unclasp the case's lid
To lift it

The morning's bite releases


Her slender form rests languidly
Her lips as rich and sweet as fruit
She lies on crushed blue velvet sheen
Her flowing fingers long and lean
As with her hand she stretches, Queen
Of Woodwinds reaching up, his flute
To greet her servant graciously

Humbly then her servant bows
And takes her hand to kiss it soft
Reverently he watches her
He sees her rise and hears her purr
Surrenders to her strong allure
She in his arms and held aloft
He weak with all that she endows

So cool and clear the voice that sings
Dame Flute in song professes joy
To all who hear and all who feel
Such lightness, airiness - unreal
The glacier's freshness, ice-cool peal
That chills and melts the trembling boy
Who sets her down by crystal springs

This is the time for which he lives
He lies upon the deep green grass
His arms about Dame Flute, whose voice
Floats up among the leaves, the noise
Of birds stilled by her sound, their choice
To stop and listen to the lass
Is taken up by most, as more she gives

Pulses flit and dart, sweet pain fills
Him as he takes her, trembling soft
The glory of the honor she
Bestows on one such man as he
Drunk in the heat of victory
He holds Dame Flute up high, aloft
And in his mercy. Now the wills

Of both stand fused as one. He plays
Her body with the deftness of
The greatest lover, with the grace
Of the most humble servant, lace
And satin thrown without disgrace
On top of coarse wool cloth. Their love
Bared to the world, greets proud new days


Rehearsal's done
The bell has rung

Startled
He looks around

Disappointed
He places her back in the case
And leaves


Copyright 1982 Julia Smith